Peter slid his hand into his pocket and pinched that precious slip of paper.  Then he smiled into Mr. Humphreys’s empurpled visage.

“Why, thank you, Mr. Humphreys,” said he, gratefully.  “I know just how you feel, and I don’t blame you in the least.  I’ve been wanting to tell you I had to quit, and you’ve saved me the trouble.”

Sam Humphreys knew that Peter Champneys had no right to stand there and smile like that at such a solemn moment.  He should have appeared ashamed, downcast, humanly perturbed; and he didn’t in the least.

“I’ve been wondering ever since the first day I hired you how I was going to keep from firing you before nightfall.  Now the end’s come.  Say—­suppose you go on home, right now.  Because,” said Mr. Humphreys, softly, “I mightn’t be able to refrain from committing justifiable homicide.  I’ll send you your salary to-night.  Go on home.  Please!”

To his horror, Peter Champneys of a sudden laughed aloud.  It was genuine laughter, that rang true and gay and glad.  His eyes sparkled, and a dash of good red jumped into his sallow cheeks.

“Good-by, then, Mr. Humphreys.  And thank you for many kindnesses, and for real patience,” said Peter.  He waved his hand at the dusty store in a wide-flung gesture of glad farewell.

“Oh, my God!  He’s run plumb crazy!” cried Mr. Humphreys, mopping his brow.  “I always said that boy wasn’t natural!”

But Peter, walking home in the bright afternoon sunlight, for the first time in his life felt young and free and happy.  He wanted to laugh, to sing, to shout, to skip.  Emma Campbell was just bringing the washed-and-dried dinner dishes back into the dining-room when he bounced in.

“Emma,” said he, sticking his thumbs into the armholes of his waistcoat, and beaming at her, “Emma, I’m out of a job.  Kicked out neck and crop.  Fired, thank God!”

Emma stacked her dishes on the old deal dresser.

“Is you?”

“I sure am.  And, Emma, listen.  I—­I’m sort of waked up.  Even if things shouldn’t turn out as I hope they will, I’ll manage to go ahead, somehow.  I’d get out, now, under any circumstances.  Pike’s Peak or bust!” said Peter.

“When you ’speck to go?”

“Just as soon as I can get out.  I’m expected in New York within ten days at the latest.  And then, Emma, the wide world!  No more little-town tittle-tattle!  All I’ve got to do, in the big world, is to deliver the goods.  And I’m going to deliver the goods!” said Peter.

But Emma Campbell put her grizzled head on the dining-room table and began to cry.

“I nussed you w’en you had de croup en de colic.  I used to tromp up en down dis same no’ wid you ’crost my shoulder.  It was me dressed Miss Maria de day she married wid yo’ pa, en it was me dressed ’er for de coffin.  You en me been stannin’ togedder ever sence.  How I gwine stan’ by my alonese ‘f now?  I ole now, Mist’ Peter.”